


The House You Shouldn't Enter

by TheTalkingPeanut



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Haunted House, Haunted House Weekly, Horror, M/M, Mystery, Slice of Life, Spooky, Unsolved, different, weekly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTalkingPeanut/pseuds/TheTalkingPeanut
Summary: There is a house you shouldn't enter...But of course, that only catches the interest of children even more.(Made for a weekly on the discord Ineffable Outliers where the theme was Haunted House)





	The House You Shouldn't Enter

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so. I haven't meant to take pauses on my other stories. 
> 
> BUT. I love Halloween. And couldn't resist writing for the weekly on this discord I'm a part of:  
https://discord.gg/n9BKjGF
> 
> If you'd like to join, there's the link. I'm there every day and so are a bunch of us. Ironically, I rp as Crowley there. No idea how that happened, but it did. So, yeah. Anywho.
> 
> As usual; enjoy. <3 Or don't.

There is a house you shouldn’t enter. And if only it were that simple, no one ever would.

But that’s not how these stories work, is it? Of course not. It never is.

Because it always starts with an incident. Which turns into whispers passed from ear to ear that grows into rumor level. In time, it eventually shifts into the local Legend that links absurd and unknown facts together to make some kind of sense. Is it true? Had everything they said about it really happened? We weren’t there or alive at the time, so how would we know for sure?

Maybe it’s only tall tales and warnings adults tell children to keep them away or to teach them a lesson somehow. For the real story is far too fantastic to be the truth. Therefore, it isn’t real.

So. What’s the harm in going to see for yourself?

And lo, the cycle continues.

This _‘House-That-Should-Not-Be-Entered’_ has a history. As all houses do. It’s not important to the story though. Typically when it comes to creepy, or ‘haunted’ houses, the history of the building is the most important aspect of it. It’s driving force that has made it the terror that it is today.

That couldn’t be further from the truth here.

The building itself is nothing. It means nothing. The reason it’s best to be avoided is honestly not because of the home itself, but _where_ it is. The location is the problem. The scant square feet of land that the house occupies is where the danger lies. Where this horror began. What must be feared and kept at a safe distance away at all costs, if one values their life.

But it’s not what you think. Naturally, your mind shifts to battle scenes and ancient burial grounds. And once again, I tell you, this couldn’t be farther from the truth.

What this land is is unexplainable. A freak of nature that has a tendency to happen every ‘once in a blue moon’, as they say. But not literally. (For blue moon’s do not have an influence here.)

But it is a thing that happens. Rare as it is, there is no rhyme or reason for it yet has plenty of theories attached to its mystery. Are they right? Are they wrong? Who’s to say?

Does it matter? Not in the slightest. It is here, and will most likely be here to stay.

_‘What is it?’_ Never has a question been so difficult to answer. But here’s the best and shortest description available: It is the absence of everything. A void in space and time that is oppressive in its emptiness. Of life. Of meaning. Of worth. It is a cancer of death in the sense of non-existence. Nothing living can survive here, and anything that was will be changed into something that becomes lost.

Such as the house and its history.

The house never used to be like this. This… ‘dead zone’ just showed up one day. The house had been lived in. A loving family with goals and a purpose. Once the grounds changed, however, they never came out again. Friends and loved ones would approach to check in on the family after not hearing from them. If they entered, they too, never exited.

This habit continued. No matter the number of people who went in, or how they handled it. Once in, they seemed to be there to stay. No one knew what became of them when they were inside.

But it wasn’t just people who had strange occurrences on the property. No animals came. The grass stopped growing. Any kind of machinery would be in fine working order until it passed the line of where the ‘zone’ started. There, it would instantly shut down, and if far too heavy to move on its own, were left with no other choice but to be abandoned until other means could be thought of to remove it.

This went on for years and years. The house could not be torn down, for anything that tried would break. It could not be burned, on account - for unknown reasons - the fire seemed to go out by the time it reached the house. No one could bar it up, and after a time they stopped bothering to lock it. In fact, when the hinges of the front door finally gave out and it came down with no one hearing it, they - the powers that be - never made an attempt to put it back up. For anyone who knew of the house, wouldn’t go near it.

Which always lead to quizzical speculation as to whatever happened to the door itself. It had been laying on the ground. Then, one day, it simply vanished. Perhaps someone stole it. Or a freak weather storm blew it away. Or further in. Whatever the case, the house was left with an open entryway. Nobody worried. Nothing would go inside.

But, as was mentioned above, stories and tales get told and spun into wild things that can explode an imagination. Too many curious minds would return to the house that refuses to give up the secrets that lie inside its walls.

And that is no exception for the four children standing in front of its now fenced-in property; their fingers curled over the chain link that keeps them out.

With bikes ignored, these four babes are about to make a terrible decision on what to do next.

As was said; the cycle continues...

***~~~***

“I’ve never liked this place. Always gives me the willies whenever we pass it,” Brian started with no encouragement from the others. “It always feels like it’s watching me.”

“A house can’t _watch_ you, it hasn’t got any eyes.” Pepper wrinkled her nose at the tallest boy.

“Windows are like eyes, right Adam? They are the eyes of a house.”

“Oh, don’t look to Adam for every confirmation! Windows are windows and nothing more.”

“Well, he does have a point there, Pepper,” Adam chimed in.

Pepper snapped her head to the blonde, “Oh no, not you too.”

Wensleydale, the shortest of the group, did not want to be left out of this debate. “Actually, I agree with Pepper. It is a bit of rubbish.”

“Thank you, Wensleydale. At least someone has some common sense here besides me.”

“But I also agree with Brian.”

Pepper gives the bespectacled one an odd look. How did they get to this subject anyway? They were just windows! The windows weren’t the point! She had to get them off the subject of this or it was going to drive her crazy.

She closes her eyes and shakes her head, “Oh forget about the stupid windows! That’s not why we’re here, is it? To bandy back and forth if the windows are eyes or not?” She quickly scans each of the boys’ faces, and when none of them disagree she continues.

She turns her gaze back to the decrepit house, her hands squeezing tighter to the metal fencing keeping them out. “We’re here to see if all those rumors are true; If this house really is a black hole, or it just eats people for those who are daft enough to enter it.”

“Yeah, about that,” said Brian, “how exactly are we going to go about proving if it's a fact or not?”

All four exchanged looks. They clearly hadn’t thought that far. Particularly after the way Pepper phrased it.

“Well,” Pepper responded since no one else would, “I should say it’s rather elementary.” 

The boys turn to her, each one with a different expression.

Adam pales. “Oh no, Pepper. You can’t possibly mean _that.” _

“Mean what?” asked Wensleydale.

“Wow.” Brian raises his brows.

“What ‘wow’? What does she mean?”

“Of course I mean _that._ What else would I mean? What other option is there to test?”

“Because if the rumors are true, then we’ve got a serious situation on our hands!” Adam returned a tad louder than he meant. His expressive blue eyes were wide and unbelieving of what she was implying. “Besides, how do we explain it to our parents?”

Pepper recoiled as if offended. “Adam! What’s wrong with you? Normally you’re the one who would come up with something as daring as this!”

“As daring as what? What are you all talking about?” Wensleydale asked in frustration.

“I don’t approve of this,” Adam glared at her.

“She _is_ right, you know,” Brian shrugged, “You have been a bit wishy-washy since that whole ‘incident’ happened.”

“Better, that,” Pepper mumbled while giving a quick glance over Adam’s shoulder to Brian. If she were a bird, her feathers would have fluffed up with pride at being agreed with. Instead, she shifted on her feet and stood taller, chin up.

Adam looked between the two of them. He seemed flustered. Wensleydale, in the meantime, was promptly ignored.

“It’s just… I don’t want anything bad to happen. Not again,” Adam states, trying to get them to understand. “Last time things we thought were real really _were_ real. What if this is the same? The risk is too dangerous.”

First, Pepper promptly makes sure to disregard Adam saying ‘we’ when it was only ‘him’ who had done everything last time. Deep down, there was a part of her that swelled with happiness to think Adam considered them all as one unit. One single, functioning unit. That was another reason which endeared him to her.

Secondly, she planted both her hands on his shoulders and forced him to look right at her. “Adam. It’s not going to happen again. The first time - was a fluke. It only happened for like a day, anyway. What are the odds of it happening again? You can’t always be hung up on this.”

Brian stepped up to one of Pepper’s arms. “I mean, yeah. Besides, this is all just a spooky superstitious story. A house like this couldn’t possibly exist without more serious action being taken by adults. You know what they’re like.”

Brian sets a hand on top of Peppers. “It’s all in good fun.” The two friends smile at each other and turn back to Adam hoping they had reassured him.

They are interrupted by a very upset voice.

“Can someone_ please_ tell me what any of you are talking about?!”

They turn to Wensleydale who is rather put out for being ignored.

“Oh, sorry,” says Brian, “We’re just talking about going inside the house.”

The small boy pushes his glasses up and stares at the house. “You mean that house?”

“Of course that house. What other house would we be talking about?” Pepper snaps.

Wensleydale questions again, unphased, “The ‘House-That-Should-Not-Be-Entered’? That house?”

“Why, are you scared?” Pepper crosses her arms. Adam frowns at her but says nothing. Since Adam said nothing, neither does Brian - he decides.

“No. Yes. Aren’t you?” Wensleydale’s fingers fiddle with the chain-link fence.

“Pff! No.” Pepper scoffs. “It’s not real, you know. All those stories about it? Nobody’s gone to the house for years and all we have are tall tales which prove nothing.” She thumbs behind her, “Adam can make up a better story than what this place is known for.”

“Dog could even come up with a better story,” added Brian.

“Where is Dog?” Adam searches around where they are standing and for the first time notices his loyal hound is nowhere to be seen.

“Dog? Oh, there he is.” Pepper points across the street.

Sure enough, there sits Dog. Unusually far away from his master with his ears tipped back and his head down. For a moment, it appeared to Pepper that the animal was… trembling.

“Here Dog! Here!” Adam calls out. The boy slaps his leg. But Dog refuses to move. “C’mon, Dog! Come here! Now!”

A faint high whimper is heard from Dog’s location.

“Well, that’s weird. He usually is so obedient to you.” Pepper watched the animal in puzzlement.

“I can’t understand it,” Adam continues to frown, “He’d never done this before.”

Brian tilts his head, curious. “Maybe it’s a sign?”

Pepper huffs. “Oh don’t start that again. He probably just likes it better over there.”

“Actually, it is known that animals can sense certain dangers before they happen. Like an earthquake.” Wensleydale informs. “He probably knows something bad is about to happen.”

Pepper can’t help it; she rolls her eyes. “What, about the house? Oh please. It’s just a spooky looking house that has gained a spooky reputation based on ludicrous facts that are most likely biased towards the truth.”

“And how would you know that?” Wensleydale challenges.

“What? You want me to prove it to you? Fine. We’ll go back to my idea and send someone in to see what happens.”

Wensleydale adjusts his glasses. “Actually, that’s not--”

“That’s a terrible idea. Let’s do it,” grins Brian.

Adam sighs with heavy shoulders.

“Or not,” Brian quickly retracts.

“Come on, Adam,” Pepper begs in a way that seems more like a demand, “It’s a haunted house! Allegedly. Since when do we back away from something that interesting?”

“Alright alright.” Adam waves a hand around. That troubled look never leaving him fully. “But how are we going to go about doing it? All of us together? Or just one?”

They look at each other again. “One should do the trick,” says Pepper.

“Fine. But _who_ goes in then?” Adam questions to all of them. In a short amount of time, all their eyes fall to the only girl in the group.

She stares at them. “Really? You want me to go in?”

“It was your idea,” shrugs Brian.

“The only female in the group because the males are too cowardly to go in? Unbelievable.” She huffs and stomps her feet closer to the gated door.

_“Wait, Pepper!”_ Adam shouts and grabs the girl’s arm to stop her from going any closer.

“What?” She looks down at his hand on her arm and back up to him. Afraid he really was going to put a stop to this.

Adam takes a moment before he responds. He scans the ground and starts picking up four sticks laying around them. He holds them all up for the others to see. “How about we make it fair? We draw sticks. Whoever gets the shortest one goes in. Yeah?”

None of them challenge the idea. Because, in all honesty, when it comes to Adam, he never has a bad idea.

Adam turns away from the others and fumbles with the sticks. When he turns back around he has them all in one fist and jutting out at various heights. He holds them out to the others and waits as they each pluck one quickly to their chests.

Once all sticks have been picked, Adam counts to three nice and slow. On three each of them instinctively snaps their hand forward, sticks out, for the others to see.

Apparently, it just wasn’t Wensleydale’s day.

“Rats,” the smallest boy curses. He throws his tiny stick to the ground with a great flourish.

“Sorry, mate. But a fair game was a fair game,” Brian tells him with a lopsided shrug. Internally, the tall boy was cringing.

Wensleydale sighs at his feet, “Yeah, I guess so.” He lifts his head and pushes up his glasses again. “So, what am I supposed to do, exactly?”

Pepper and Adam catch each other’s eye, to which the former drops her gaze to the ground.

“Just,” Adam starts, thinks about it for a second, then continues, “go up to the house, stand in the main entrance and then… come back out. Fast.”

Wensleydale hesitates but a moment, then asks, “For how long?”

Adam bites his lip. Giving this some serious thought. He glances back to Dog who still hasn’t budged from his spot across from them, and comes to a decision. “Ten seconds. Or, five if you get scared. Alright?”

The bespectacled boy lets this info sink in. He stares off at nothing in particular before turning and giving a hard gaze at the house. He clutches the fence.

Just as Pepper feels he’s about to back out, his high voice pipes up. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

No one felt good about his answer. Even Pepper had to admit she began to doubt the intelligence in this. As radically impossible the odds of another strange incident occurring in such a short time again.

Secretly, she only said those things to make Adam feel better. The whole ‘incident’ really shook him up. It shook them all up. She believed everything the rumors said about the house was true. And knew the others did as well. But it was another adventure to be had, and she didn’t want it to be cut from them simply because of how fantastic everything went last time. If it’s exciting, let it be exciting. If it’s scary, let it be scary. They never let it stop them before, so why was it an issue now?

\--She knew. But she didn’t want to give up on what they used to have.--

The gate wasn’t even locked, they discovered. None of them knew how to feel about that. Brian held it open for the smallest one as he took careful steps onto the property. Halfway up the walk he stopped and turned to face them.

“Actually, I really don’t want to do this.”

“You’re the one who drew the short stick, fair and square,” reminds Pepper. “You can’t go back on it now.”

The doubt and terror in his eyes were palpable. Amplified tenfold by his prescripted lenses. “Adam?” he calls out with one more desperate plea.

There is a struggle warring on the blonde’s face. He swallows and licks his lips. “Pepper’s right. It’s just a house. You’re going to be fine, I promise. A-anyway remember; five seconds.”

Wensleydale takes a deep breath and exhales, now looking like to all the world a condemned man taking his final walk to the death chamber. He begrudgingly turns back to the house and continues his slow steps up to the wilted stairs.

These he climbs each with care, an ancient groan accompanying every attempt he makes to stay as light as foot as possible. He pauses after each one. The others hold their breath for fear that the wood will give way and down their friend will go. But somehow, that doesn’t happen. And they stay fixated on his form as he approaches the wide opening to the house itself.

Once again, the boy pauses. They can’t blame him. They shout encouragements to him that everything will be okay. He looks back at them one more, long time. Then he bravely turns and tiptoes out of view into the haunted dwelling.

The moment he vanishes from sight, the others start counting. Each second feels like a minute.

They get to five, and no sign of Wensleydale.

They can’t help but let out a unified sigh of relief. Obviously that meant he wasn’t scared. So he was going to hold out for the full ten. What a kid.

They counted off the seconds. Felt like a year went by. Had time run up yet?

Eight… nine… ten._ Finally._

They stood. They waited. Breaths held, eyes unblinking.

Wensleydale didn’t come out.

***~~~***

He had been gone for most of the day, but that wasn’t anyone’s business. He hadn’t told anyone where he was going either. But, once again, that also wasn’t anyone's business. It wasn’t like Crowley was trying to be difficult or anything. He just didn’t feel like explaining why he would be randomly taking a four-hour trip today (which, of course, by the way he drives, would never take anywhere near that long) in case anyone should ask him. Which he knew that nobody would.

Well. Maybe the angel. If the bastard would bother to call him a bit more.

Burning sulfur, he was sick of the feeling like this relationship was one-sided. ‘Old habits’ his mother’s crab apples.

He swore to not make it a long visit. More to himself than anyone else. It was an impulse move - what else is new? - to drop unannounced and see an old friend he hadn’t in a very long while.

I mean, they were friends, right? Sure they were. Well, he thought they were. It didn’t matter anyway, he was going to see her and there wasn’t much more to be done about it.

So there Crowley was. Standing at the edge of Dozmary Pool - on a conveniently unbusy day - waiting to see someone he hadn’t in quite a spell all because of an Apocawasn’t. That event put a lot of things for him into perspective. Taking what he has into account. Who he knows. His connections left.

It wasn’t much.

But he had this. He had her. Or, he thought he did. Perhaps this was just reassurance he needed. Nothing wrong with that.

He knew she knew he was here. So he waited. Impatiently. Pacing back and forth. Fighting against every natural effort he had to not text or call that stupid angel, and instead of doing his best to distract himself by playing Mahjong on his phone.

A handful of minutes later he heard the ripples in the water.

He looked up and there she stood before him on its near flat surface. She raised an eyebrow when he smiled. “Hello, Nimue. Been a while.”

“That it has,” the Lady of the Lake’s voice echoed over to him, “Why, may I ask, are you here?”

Crowley shrugged, tucking his phone away and digging his hands into whatever scant room there was to find in his pockets. “Oh. You know. Just wanted to see an old friend. Catch up for old time’s sake. Share war stories, that sort of thing.”

The ethereal woman, clad mostly in white, didn’t respond to him right away. When she did, it was not the question Crowley wanted to hear. (But not wholly the one he wasn’t expecting.)

“Where’s Aziraphale?”

Crowley whirled his head around with a groan - all rather dramatic, really - and said, “Why does everyone always assume we’re conjoined at the hip? There are activities that I do that - believe or not - don’t include Mr. Goody Two-Shoes. I have a life outside of the angel.”

She gives him a look. It isn’t harsh, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point, spreading an arm out. But nothing comes of it. Instead, he ends up looking like a fish trying to gulp water.

“Are you two having marital issues?”

That grants her an overdramatic huff. “We’re not married. Never have been,” Crowley picks up his pacing again. He runs a hand through his hair halfway and leaves it there.

Nimue nods twice. “I see. Forgive me, I had only assumed…”

The demon waved his hand at her to stop the rest of that sentence. All the while he kept pacing. “Nah, it’s fine. Everyone does. At least I think everyone does. Well everyone does now anyway. I mean, I thought something would change too. But. I guess old habits and all that. S’not so easy to change someone in a day or week, it seems. I suppose after six thousand years… I mean, what did I expect?” Crowley rambled on.

It went on for a bit but didn’t head in any particular direction. It only seemed once he got started, he couldn’t find the ability to stop.

At a point he got stuck - or stuttered; too many thoughts flooding him at once - and in that moment Nimue took the opportunity to speak.

“You need someone to talk to,” she said, realization dawning on her delicate features.

Crowley balked at her. “Why do you think I’m here?!” he yells high-pitched.

The Lady of the Lake smiles knowingly at him. She’s not bothered in the slightest by his outburst or his behavior overall. Her voice is gentle.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

He stares at her. Feels awkward now and looks around for prying ears. He rubs his nose and does his best not to bore her.

Meaning; Crowley tries to stick to the point. It still takes longer than he intended.

***

It was an accident.

Or a coincidence.

Or any other variation of mistake or luck. However, anyone wishes to see it. It doesn’t matter. What matters is Crowley missed his turn. His mind was back at Dozmary Pool replaying the lengthy conversation he had with the Lady of the Lake.

She was remarkably understanding. Listened to everything he said; absorbed it, is more the correct assumption. Offered a thought or two, but nothing intrusive. She really was more to hear him than give an opinion. Which he didn’t know he wanted. Or, wait. No. He did. Did he?

It went far better than he expected. But he didn’t know what to expect since it was an impulse move. He figured it would go the opposite way because it tends to. But it didn’t, so perhaps she is a friend he can rely on--

Oh, fuck. That was his turn. _Shit!_

Well, there goes his positive vibe for the day.

He groans out a frustrated growl.

Sod it. He’s in the neighborhood. He’ll just turn down the next road and loop around there. It just takes more time… God, what a waste.

Then everything shifted. That accident. Or mistake. Or luck, or what have you.

Crowley turns down the next street with squealing tires. Doesn’t care if it's residential. But his put-out mood started to change when he _felt it. _

It hit him hard:_ Terror. Panic. Guilt. Desperation. _

They were wild and strong. It was coming from youths. Crowley let off on the gas pedal.

Then he saw them. And his insides plummeted. He leaned forward in his seat as he approached them in the Bentley. They were huddled by the front metal gate of that house. But only three of them.

Where was the small one?

“No no no no,” Crowley mumbled to himself. He slammed on the breaks, turned the car off, practically ejected himself from the front seat and darted over to them. He never noticed he parked next to the dog who had been barking at him since he was within eyeshot.

Adam and the girl - who he tried to recall her name, was it Pepper? - were struggling and shouting at each other as they both made their way to the open doorway. The third kid’s voice cracking for them to stop.

“Oi! Stop right there!” Crowley bellowed over at them. An arm outstretched.

All three stopped and spun to him. It took a solid second till they ran over, now letting their emotions pour out tenfold. They met him at the gate entrance, all three overlapping each other in panic and tears.

Crowley couldn’t pinpoint one from the other but he was able to translate the gist of it; The small one with glasses, Wensleydale, went in the house. Hasn’t come back out. They don’t know how many minutes have passed since he went in. Adam and Pepper - he was right about the name - each blame themselves. Brian doesn’t blame either he just wants to figure out what to do. They had decided - foolishly - to go in and get him out when Crowley showed up.

“What are any of you thinking?!” Crowley yelled at them. “You do not go into this house! Ever!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” cried Adam

“We just wanted to see if the rumors were true,” added Pepper.

“Of course they’re true! Every rumor is based on some kind of fact!” Crowley looked to the house. This was bad.

This place has been up for some time and has been nothing but problems. Hell didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t understand it. Heaven had been no better off. For the most part, people left it alone, and it never seemed to wander to any other location, so it wasn’t a major problem on a massive or global scale. Therefore, it was ignored by them as well.

Fuck. He should have known better.

The boy had been in there too long. There was no time for waiting anymore. The angel wouldn’t like it, but it didn’t matter now. Crowley whipped out his phone once more.

“Adam, do you know Aziraphale’s number?” he asked the blonde boy.

Adam blinked, a bit lost but trying hard to think. He shook his head. “No, I-I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Nevermind,” he said low and fiddled on his phone a bit. Then he shoved it into the boy’s hands and made sure they were making eye-contact - or, eyes to sunglasses, anyway.

“Alright Adam, here. Call Aziraphale now. If he doesn’t answer, keep calling. Harass him until he answers. When he does, tell him to get his pristine-covered arse over here as soon as yesterday! I don’t care how you do it! Lie, cheat, and steal to get him to come over! Just get that angel over here _now!” _

At the tail-end of what Crowley was saying he had started to charge his way to the front door of the house. Taking long strides. The other children were shouting to him but all he did was bark at them to _‘stay right where they are.’ _

He repeatedly called out Wensleydale’s name on his march forward.

The closer he got, the deeper this sinking feeling took over. He even stopped at the steps and had to shake his head to clear his vision. He didn’t mind that, because when he looked down…

Oh, those stairs were in worse shape then they looked. Thankfully, there weren’t many of them. Just four. With great care, Crowley lifted a leg and placed it on the top step and tested its strength. It groaned and creaked, but stayed. On a count of three, he propelled himself onto that leg and quickly brought down his other on the top step and waited.

It held. Good. Two wide steps later he was standing in the entryway.

He peered in. But there was nothing to see but blackness. There was a voice in his head, right behind his ear that was begging him not to do this. It was trying to pull him away, get him to go back into the car and drive.

But Crowley was used to ignoring this voice. So he wasn’t bothered by it.

Crowley closed his eyes and concentrated. He cleared his vision and shifted a few things around. When he opened them again, he had no problem seeing through the dark.

And what he saw he wished he didn’t.

His mouth fell open. There were bodies everywhere. Lying all over the floor, on the stairs, in the halls. Dressed in various century fashions. All preserved. All with the same expression. The sight was overwhelming. There was no smell. No sound. Just bodies and furniture long forgotten.

As Crowley scanned the floor he found the boy. The little form lying prostrate and splayed in front of him. Surprisingly further in than what he imagined him to be. His bottle-thick glasses a few inches in front of his face.

Crowley didn’t waste another second - he stepped right in to get the child.

And he felt it instantly. It was so sudden he stumbled several steps back and forth. Losing where he was. His body went into shock, he assumed. Fuck. All the air in his lungs was wrung out. And he turned heavy. Oh, God. So incredibly heavy. His body was too much to hold up any more, and he felt/saw/heard himself fall fall fall fall to the floor. The world shifting, twirling too fast.

_No, no fuck no,_ he thought with a fight as his mind clouded._ Not right now, I have to get the kid first. The angel isn’t here, this can’t happen now! _

His body hit the ground hard but he didn’t have time to feel it. What he was aware of were two things; one was that each of his organs were shutting down at an alarming rate, and the other was his proximity to the boy.

He knew he was still very close to the entrance, but not close enough to do anything to save himself about it. The only thing he knew that he had to do, that he would not fail in - that was the sole reason he came here for - was to use every bit of his energy/life/essence left in him to reach out and grab that child and not let him go.

He came here to get him. He wasn’t going to fail in that. Not in that.

Crowley gritted his teeth and focused all he had to stretch his arm out in front. It would barely lift off the ground, he had to more or less crawl it forward. It was like trying to give life to a dead hand. But he wouldn’t give up. He couldn’t move his head; that took too much energy.

_Please, please just let me reach him. Just let me grab his leg. I can’t mess this up. I… I won’t… No, I won’t… _

He felt an object. He slowly traced the curves of its lines on the flat side. Yes, it was a shoe. Thank whoever allowed him to get this far. He bit down harder, squeezing his eyes and yelled. Forcing all he had left to move his hand just a bit further… a bit bit more…

His hand slid over the shoe, God it was tiring. Vision fading, mind blurring. Tongue thick and weighty. As his hand passed the shoe, it sunk down to a slim appendage.

Had to be the ankle. If it wasn’t… Well, he tried. Vision snuffed out. Crowley squeezed the ankle in a vice grip and hoped that the angel would be here so--

.................

***~~~***

“Oh for crying out loud, I’m coming!”

Aziraphale’s phone had been going off for what seemed like non-stop just as he happened to get comfortable and settled in his chair with a good book - which he had read fifty-four times already - and actually put an effort in to make a pot of tea this time next to him.

He knew it was rude. But he took his time to get there. I mean, honestly. Aren’t his hours clear enough to read on the outside? He’s closed! And what about his sign? Not big, bold, or flashy enough to be noticed? Well. That is hardly his fault. Perhaps if one would stop and take notice of the finer and simpler things in life, they wouldn’t be so careless or incredibly rude as they _are doing so right now. _

No matter. Too late to lament on it now, for he was up and the blasted phone was still ringing.

Of course, being this persistent, it most likely is none other than Crowley.

In that case, he didn’t mind.

Aziraphale reached the phone and snatched it up. Out of polite habit, he decided to start with, “I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid we are closed for the day,” even if it was Crowley on the other end.

The demon was used to this response. He would just ignore it and get to the point of his call.

What the angel didn’t expect was to hear an overly panicked Adam doing his best to stay calm and form coherent words.

“Adam? Adam, calm down… Slow down, I can’t… what?... No, I can’t understand anything you’re saying, dear boy.”

Aziraphale covered his other ear and frowned, doing his best to focus on the voice on the other line. “You’re what?... At the house?... Well, I’m glad you’re home but you don’t need to call me for that… No, which house?... Adam, _which house?” _

Aziraphale’s face fell. He felt ice streak down his spine. “Adam… why do you have Crowley’s phone?” He listened. He closed his eyes. “Adam, Adam. Who’s all in the house right now?”

Aziraphale shuddered and unclosed his eyes. “What’s the address?” his voice became firm, “Adam dear, I need you to tell me the exact address of where you are. Can you do that? Thank you.”

He wrote it down. Adam was such a smart boy.

“Oh, one more thing,” he spoke up quick, “can you please count back from ten for me? Starting now. Yes, now. Nice and clear. Thank you so much.”

Aziraphale held the phone out near its base, listening to Adam counting down. He focused on the address, the location, the look of that house. He let Adam’s voice float through his head and fill it. He waved his arm up then down...

... and was now standing next to the blonde and his friends just as the boy had reached - ironically - 3... 2...1.

“Thank you, dear boy.”

The children jumped and turned. He hadn’t meant to startle them, but he was certain they had already been on edge, so it wouldn’t have taken much, to begin with. This house does that to a being.

“It’s my fault, this is all my fault,” Adam told him.

“No it isn’t, it’s mine!” argued Pepper. “I’m the one who insisted we do this stupid activity! I kept pushing it!”

“Shh, now. It’s no one’s fault,” Aziraphale kneeled to do his best to console them, touching the two children’s arms. There wasn’t time for this. His insides were flip-flopping all over, warning him time was being wasted here.

But the children were so distressed, he could not leave them without a bit of comfort first. “Wensleydale will be alright, I promise you.”

“What about Crowley?” asked Brian, desperation all over him.

“Him too, so don’t worry.” Aziraphale smiled at all of them. But, in truth… he felt sick.

This place, this property… was an enigma to them. None of their powers or miracles worked, especially the closer they got to the house. Not for either side, to be honest. Even they didn’t know what it was or what to do about it. All angels agreed to keep a distance from it. What Aziraphale was doing was considered suicide simply being this close. He had been exceptionally good about avoiding the place up to now.

But when he glanced back and saw the Bentley sitting there without an owner... the stabbing pain he felt...

There was no other choice.

Aziraphale patted and calmed them each as quickly as he could (a plus when all you need to do is touch as an angel) then turned, fixed his clothes, and made his way onto the property. He - as Crowley had done before him - had ordered the children to stay on the other side of the fence. No matter what happens. He made them promise him.

He reached the stairs. Decrepit looking things. A miracle they still were a shape. Aziraphale didn’t want to tango with them for a second. So, with a bit of a miracle here and there, he ‘jumped’ and landed safely near the top.

Blessed Saint Patrick it worked.

When nothing else happened, he let out a sigh and looked at the open doorway.

He wasn’t aware he froze on the spot. Sticking just out of the doorframe were two fashionable black shoes. Shoes that were recognizable to the angel even if they were in the dark. They were attached to legs which didn’t move. Legs that vanished into the inky void of the house.

He didn’t think. It was so natural to do it. In one swift movement, Aziraphale reached down and grabbed each part of the leg that was visible and yanked back with such force to pull him out. To pull _Crowley_ out.

The angel let out a strangled cry, slipped and fell over. He was stunned; why was he so heavy? Crowley’s anything but heavy. It was as if he doubled in weight. Or more...

Then a thought hit him. An awful, brilliant thought.

He figured out what Crowley was doing.

Crowley knew he wouldn’t make it. So he left everything to the angel. Had Adam call him. Bring him here. Crowley would make sure to be close to the door and grab the boy. Then it would be left to Aziraphale to get them out. He left it all to him. Didn’t ask, didn’t plan. Just did it. On impulse.

“Damn you, you wiley, impulsive, unthinking, selfish, selfless fool!” Aziraphale gripes through every effort to get a strong grip of Crowley’s legs, and with a grunting combination of dragging and pulling, slowly inches the bodies out of the mouth of the Pit of Darkness.

They slide with every effort but move like bags of sand. Aziraphale doesn’t care about the stairs this time around. In fact, he forgot about their condition entirely. His thoughts were only drag. Pull. Re-grab. Repeat.

He could hear the kids yelling in the background, their voices excited and encouraging. He let out a desperate growl and yanked hard a bit too much and he tripped on the first step and tumbled down.

Hitting the ground didn’t bother him. Dirtying his clothes hadn’t hit him yet. Instead, Aziraphale scrambled to his knees, because he had brought the two bodies down with him.

Oh, yes. Sure enough, Crowley had grabbed Wensleydale. Upon closer inspection, it was clear his grip was going to leave a mark, possibly had cracked the bone. It was so strong he couldn’t get him to release it. It was his final act.

He heard the gate squeak. “Get back, I told you to stay where you are! Please do as I say!” Aziraphale shouted to them as he saw that once they noticed Wensleydale, they had stopped thinking clearly and had tried to make a bolt to their lying friend.

They listened, thank God. Their tortured faces wanted to rebel, but they listened.

Aziraphale wasted no time in flipping them both over. Crowley first, then the boy. Neither had their glasses on. Their expressions were the same, which caused him to pause. Wide eyes, open mouth. A look of terror unknown.

His attention was to the boy, or it should have been. But… that’s not what he did. And it didn’t occur to him till later whom he chose first and over the other. He was at Crowley’s side in a flash.

He put a hand to the demon’s chest and searched. His eyes, his vessel. For where Crowley would tuck himself away.

There was nothing. _Nothing. _

Oh, wait. There’s a little... just, maybe give it a push...

Crowley choked a gasp. His face turned red with veins and he clearly seemed struggling in pain.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cupped his face, then moved his hands to other places, trying to find somewhere that would help him relieve the distress.

Crowley lifted his arms. He was choking. But was trying to get words out all the same. Aziraphale caught his hands and pet them. “It’s alright, Crowley, I’m here! Just breathe! Please!”

The demon didn’t look at him. He shook his head and fought to get his hands out from the angel’s. He let him and frowned when Crowley proceeded to push him away.

“Crowley, why?” he asked low, hurt. But immediately understood when Crowley turned his head and did his best to shove the angel in another direction “Th...e… kh..id… go..to the...kid…” he croaked.

He didn’t want to. God help him, he didn’t want to leave Crowley’s side. But Crowley was technically alive and moving and the boy wasn’t yet. And he was a child, and his need had to be on the child above all else.

He crawled over to Wensleydale who hadn’t moved since being brought out. He heard Crowley gasping behind him, doing his best to collect himself. The boy was pale. Quite dead.

But to Hell to anyone if he was going to let him remain that way.

He healed the boy’s ankle first with a wave over the spot. He then gently cradled Wensleydale into his lap and placed a hand over the child’s heart and searched. It wasn’t the boy’s time yet. The connection to his soul was easy to follow. He smiled when he found it, and with a golden light, he brought it back down to where it belonged. Aziraphale looked down at Wensleydale’s face.

“Wake up, my boy. It’s time to wake up.” He touched his forehead and the eyes opened with a gasp.

Wensleydale coughed repeatedly, but his color returned. Aziraphale picked him up and carried him away from the cursed land, over to his friends. All the while, the boy - though squinting - kept giving the angel a surprised look.

He set him down to be taken care of and hugged by his friends, who of course swarmed him immediately.

“Wensleydale! You’re alive!”

“You made it! I can’t believe it!”

“What was it like in there? What did you see?”

“Where are my glasses? I actually can’t see any of you that well.”

“Dunno. I think they’re still in the house.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“We’ll never do that again, I swear.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Aziraphale watched as they fussed over him. But then he noticed Brian stare oddly over to the house. “Why’s he doing that?”

“What?” Aziraphale whipped around in time to see Crowley standing in front of the entrance of the house, both hands on the door frame.

_“Crowley no!”_ the angel shouted. Fear pumping his voice.

Crowley turned back to glance at him, blank expression, then disappeared inside.

_“DON’T!”_ Aziraphale ran before he was aware of moving. He leaped over the stairs and screamed Crowley’s name at the door.

He stepped in - he didn’t think nor care - and saw as Crowley collapsed to the floor.

Aziraphale felt it. The moment he entered he felt it all. The pressure, the suffocation. The weight. But it wasn’t wholly intense as it could have been. For he made sure not to go all the way inside. He stepped in but was still out enough to feel himself. He reached down and without wasting time he grabbed Crowley and dragged the bastard out for the second time that day.

It was much easier this time around. Course, this time Aziraphale was angry.

He practically tossed Crowley onto the lawn and landed next to him, turning him over, grabbing him by his lapels and shaking the nonsense out of him.

“What the Hell is wrong with you?!” he shrieked at the demon’s face. “Are you intentionally trying to abandon me here?! All alone on this planet?!”

Crowley was wheezing up at him. He shook his head weakly and lifted a limp arm for the angel to see. “I just had to get this… Figured he’d need it....”

In his hand were the bottle-top thick glasses that belonged to Wensleydale.

Aziraphale stared at them in disbelief. Crowley was willing to throw his life away, to get a little child his glasses. Never gave a thought to his own sunglasses.

Aziraphale wanted to cry. He covered his mouth as tears formed and lowered his head till their foreheads touched. He lifted Crowley into his lap and rocked him. He wasn’t aware he was doing this.

He felt a hand brush his cheek and hold it there, a thumb caressing whatever space it could find.

“There are more in there,” Crowley whispers, his own voice breaking. “I… I saw them. I fear the kid saw them too. Oh, angel. There are so many in there...”

“I know, dear. I know.” Aziraphale cupped his hand behind Crowley’s neck.

“We have to get them.”

“Oh, Crowley...”

Was all the angel could say. How could he tell the precious demon there was no way to save them? He and Wensleydale were miracles enough as it was. The others would be impossible to retrieve.

Instead, he did his best to steer the conversation into reminding Crowley that they should get off the property themselves and make sure the children get home safe.

Thankfully, Crowley was far too weak to argue the point.

\------------------------------------------------

**Author's Note:**

> I had to hurry to get this done so blah. Now my brain hurts >_<
> 
> Let me know what you thought <3


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